


scraps of bubble wrap in a plastic bag

by lotts (LottieAnna)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Fake Sex, Getting Together, Jealousy, M/M, Meddling, POV Alternating, Pining, real sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-22 17:30:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14313654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts
Summary: “Whatareyou,” Mat says, disbelieving.“That’s for me to know, and you to find out,” Dylan says.





	scraps of bubble wrap in a plastic bag

**Author's Note:**

> IF YOU FOUND THIS THROUGH GOOGLING, KNOW ANYONE MENTIONED IN THIS STORY PERSONALLY, OR ARE MENTIONED YOURSELF: please, please click away. This is a work of fiction and nothing written in this story is true. Any accurate information used in this story is publicly available information about public figures, the rest is made up, 100%.
> 
> ...literally this started because i was tweeting rarepairs and was like "dylan strome/jordan eberle has no reason to exist and yet i wanna write it into the world anyway" and now begins the era of shipping dylan strome with anyone and everyone ig! THANKS TO THE VILLAGE OF PEOPLE WHO READ THIS: logan, sj, deja, ali, ash, rachel <3 your comments are invaluable and I love y'all

 

_ (Mat) _

Mat would love it if Dylan Strome would, like, get the fuck out of his life. 

Honestly, he has no reason to still be around; they’re not playing for Team Canada anymore, the Mem Cup has long since passed, and his brother doesn’t even play for Mat’s team, anymore. 

But Dylan manages to get himself traded there anyway, and he’s also fucking the guy Mat’s had his eye on for ages, and, like, come the fuck  _ on,  _ it’s Dylan Strome. Mat can’t figure out what Ebs finds appealing, about him; he thinks it’s maybe the narrative completion of the whole thing—fucking the ex-boyfriend of his ex-boyfriend’s ex-rookie, who happens to be the younger brother of the guy he got traded for— 

“Nah,” Dylan says over lunch, while he’s still chewing. Mat can see the bits of food between his teeth, which, ew. “I just asked, and he said yes.” 

“How the fuck do you just ask that?” Mat says, ignoring the way Tito snorts beside him. Whatever, he’s a dick, and so is everyone else on this fucking team. 

“Uh, you looking for, like, a script?” Dylan says, and then he shrugs. “I mean, I dunno what to tell you, dude. I just kinda got on my knees, and he seemed to be into it.” 

“Incredible,” Tito says, sounding fucking delighted. 

“Oh my god,” Mat says. “Do you have any shame? Like, at all?” 

Dylan shrugs. “Eh.” 

Mat shakes his head. “This whole thing makes no sense.” 

“Yeah, probably not,” Dylan says. “But I’m the one getting laid. Honestly, I wanted to fuck JT, but that wasn’t gonna happen.” 

“Why not?” Tito asks. 

“He felt weird about it,” Dylan says. “Because of, like, Ryan? Which, fair enough. But Ebby was the next best choice.” 

“Jordan Eberle was your  _ next best choice,” _ Mat says. “How does this even happen? You look like a raccoon.” 

“I’m good at working with what I’ve got, I guess,” Dylan says. 

Mat sighs, kind of disbelieving, and Tito pats his back, which would be comforting if he wasn’t so clearly entertained by this whole thing. 

…… 

“Dude, are you seriously still moping about this?” Tito says, rolling his eyes. “It’s been a week.” 

Considering Mat can hear Dylan and Ebs in the next room over, he thinks the wound is sufficiently fresh. “I just don’t get how Stromer gets everything he wants.” 

“I don’t think he gets everything he wants,” Tito says. “He had a pretty shitty time in Arizona.” 

“Okay, but he’s here now, and—I’m sorry, but—I’m better looking than him, right?” 

“Are you seriously getting all insecure about this?” Tito says. 

“No, I’m not insecure,” Mat says. “I know I’m hotter.” 

“That’s a relief,” Tito deadpans.

“So I’m confused as to why he’s fucking the guy I’ve been trying to get with,” Mat says. “It just doesn’t make sense—” 

“Yes, it does,” Tito says, cutting him off. “He asked, you didn’t.” 

“I was playing the long game,” Mat says. 

“And he wasn’t, and now he’s getting laid, and you’re bitching to me about how you never had the chance to get your hero worship crush hookup out of your system,” Tito says. 

“But I just—how do you just ask someone that?” 

Mat’s not expecting a response from Tito, who’s in the process of untangling his earbuds and clearly done with this conversation, except then Dylan’s voice sounds through the walls, “Yeah, god, fuck me, Ebs.” 

Tito snorts. “Like that.” 

Mat shoots him a glare, then bangs on the wall and shouts, “Can you two keep it down?” 

The creaking noise gets a little slower, but it doesn’t stop completely, and, after a second, starts up again. Mat can’t make out words anymore, though, so he counts it as an improvement. 

“Listen, if you were actually heartbroken, I’d seriously be sympathetic, but you’re just… pissed off. Like, on principle,” Tito says. 

“What?” 

“You’re just upset because Dylan has something you want, and you’re being a brat,” Tito says. “If you wanted Ebs that badly, you could’ve done something about it yourself.” 

“Fuck you, I’m not being a brat,” Mat says, even though—well, like, he kind of is, but it’s not like he hadn’t had any feelings for Ebs. Like, sure, not super strong ones, but feelings nonetheless. 

“Whatever you say,” Tito says, clearly unconvinced, and then the moaning in the other room starts up again. “Jesus fuck, why are hotel walls this thin?” 

Mat rocks back and forth on his bed a few times. “Maybe if they realize we can hear it, they’ll, like, move to the shower, or something.” 

“I don’t think they’re paying attention,” Tito says. “Also, I think this mattress is creakier.” 

Mat climbs off his bed then jumps onto Tito’s, which is, in fact, creakier. “Yeah, like that,” he calls in the direction of the wall. 

Tito raises an eyebrow. “What are you doing?” he asks, in a quieter voice. 

“Just messing with them,” Mat says. “I’m seriously over having to hear them bone every fucking night, it’s giving me a headache.” 

“You think it’s gonna make a difference?” 

“It’s worth a shot.”

Tito seems to consider that, before he shrugs in agreement, then yells, “Yeah, you want it, Barzy?” 

“Want it so bad,” Mat yells back, and then he mouths,  _ Are you fucking me?  _

_ Yeah,  _ Tito mouths back. “I’ll give it to you, baby, just the way you like it.” 

“Oh, please,  _ mon Beau, _ ” Mat says, which makes Tito giggle, and Mat has to swallow a laugh as he puts a hand over Tito’s mouth to stifle the noise, holding a finger up to his lips as he grins. 

And Tito, because he’s an asshole, licks his hand. 

Mat makes a very offended face. “Oh, you wanna do  _ what?  _ That’s pretty kinky, Anthony,” he yells, then sticks his tongue out at Tito for good measure. 

_ Fuck you,  _ Tito mouths, laughing, and then he lunges at Mat and calls, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you feel real good,” as he starts wrestling him to the bed. 

“Like fuck you will,” Mat says, at a normal volume, too distracted to keep up the act. “I can’t believe you licked me.” 

“Thought you liked that one,  _ baby,”  _ Tito says, trying to pin down Mat’s wrists, but Mat pretends to bite at his hand, and he yelps and pulls it away. 

“Ha!” Mat says, triumphantly flipping them over, holding Tito’s arm down with one hand, and his hip with the other. 

“Giving up on out-groaning our neighbors already?” Tito says, squirming. 

“I think wrestling on a loud mattress will do the trick,” Mat says. 

“You gotta commit, dude,” Tito says. “Make it seem realistic.” Then, he yells, “Oh, yeah, you feel so good for me.” He thrusts his hips up a few times, probably to make the creaking of the bed more rhythmic, except his thigh ends up between Mat’s legs, and Mat lets out a gasp, probably loud enough to be heard in the next room, but very, very real. 

“Mat?” Tito says, the laughter dying down, and the room is, for the first time all night, way too quiet. “You good?” 

“Yeah,” Mat says, kind of breathless, and he has to stop himself from rocking his hips forward again. 

He looks at Tito’s face; it’s red, from the wrestling and the giggling, and he’s got a few days’ worth of stubble that he should probably shave. His eyes are wide, and his brow is pinched a little at the center, and his mouth is hanging open a bit, and it’s really just his usual slightly concerned face, but for whatever reason, it’s really working for Mat. 

It’s not like Mat’s never noticed that Tito’s hot. It’s just—he’s never really dwelled on it, because Tito’s his friend, and that’s that. It’s never been something worth thinking too much about, except with Tito splayed out underneath him on a bed, his shirt slightly rumpled and his lips very pink, it’s hard to think about anything else. 

“Uh, dude?” Tito says. “Earth to Barz?” 

Mat’s eyes meet his, then very purposely travel down his body. He slips a thumb under the hem of Tito’s shirt, then looks back up at his face and raises an eyebrow, offering. 

Tito blinks at him, once, and then twice, and then— 

Honestly, too many things happen at once for Mat to even be able to tell what happens. All he knows is that one second, Tito’s lying down, and the next, his mouth is against Mat’s, and he’s pulling him into his lap, his hands almost forceful as Mat tries to follow his lead while undoing the buttons of his own shirt. 

“I’ll take care of that,” Tito says against Mat’s mouth, and he yanks him by the fabric of his collar until he’s properly situated, one thigh on either side of Tito’s hips, before he gets to work unbuttoning with fast, sure hands. 

He seems determined, and very in control of the situation, and it’s really, really working for Mat. 

“Your shirt,” Mat says, kind of panting. 

“What about my shirt?” he says, not taking his eyes away from Mat’s torso as he undoes the last button and starts to peel the shirt off Mat’s body. 

“Take it off,” Mat says. 

“You’re so rude,” Tito says. “You could at least say please.” 

“You didn’t,” Mat says, moving his arm so Tito can pull the sleeve over his wrist. 

“I didn’t want to,” Tito says. 

“What makes you think I do?” 

Tito raises an eyebrow, and Mat shivers, and he’d be embarrassed about easily he gives in if he weren’t so desperate to get Tito out of his clothes. 

“Can you take off your shirt?” Mat asks. “Please?” 

Tito gives him a smile, half pleased, half smug, and then he strips off his shirt and pulls Mat into a kiss, getting to work on his belt. “What do you want to do?” 

“I thought you were calling the shots,” Mat says. 

“Is that what you want?” Tito asks, looking up. 

“I—” Mat says, getting a little lost in how blue Tito’s eyes are. “I don’t know?” 

Tito abruptly removes his hands from Mat’s belt, and Mat groans. 

“I don’t think that’s true,” Tito says. “Tell me what you want, Mat, and I’ll give it to you.” 

The words are weirdly warm, even though Tito’s tone is firm, and almost harsh, and Mat’s pretty sure this is the best sex he’s ever had, and it’s barely even begun. 

“I want you to fuck me,” Mat says. “Will you?” 

“Yeah,” Tito says. “Get on your hands and knees.” 

And Mat does, way too easily, and he’s vaguely aware that the walls are thin—that’s how this whole thing started in the first place, somehow—but fuck if he doesn’t cry out as Tito slips a finger in him, because it feels like relief immediately being replaced by a new tension, and god, Mat’s spent this entire night—this entire  _ week— _ trying to tune out the sex he hasn’t been having, and he hadn’t even realized how worked up he’s been, but apparently he is, because he’s got, like, negative patience right now. 

So he keeps asking Tito for things—for him to touch him here, to stroke him there, to go faster, slower, softer, harder, harder,  _ harder— _ and Tito keeps giving them to him, and Mat knows they’re both being loud, and couldn’t care less, because the world outside this hotel room may as well not exist.  __

“God,” Tito says, after who knows how long, “I’m close.” 

“You gonna come?” Mat says, and he’s totally out of breath, but so is Tito. 

“You want me to?” Tito says. “Or do you want me to slow down and stay inside you?” 

It’s a really tough choice, but Mat makes it anyway. 

“Fuck me so hard I can feel it tomorrow,” Mat says. 

And Tito does, and it’s perfect, even in the ways Mat hadn’t asked for—he feel the stretch, and the way Tito’s gripping him so tight there will probably be marks, right on a bruise that Mat’s been trying to poke at all day, and it hurts in the best way possible, leaving Mat too wrapped up in the landscape of sensations to think about anything else for a short burst of time, and then he slams against him, squeezes just a little bit harder, and says, “I’m coming.”  

Mat breathes heavily through Tito’s orgasm, whining a little as he pulls out, and, yeah, he’s definitely gonna feel this tomorrow. 

He doesn’t regret it, like, at all. 

“Do you wanna—” Tito says, cutting himself off because he still hasn’t fully caught his breath yet. “I can, like, go down on you, if you want.” 

Mat turns over, feeling the aftermath of the sex they’d just had in the way his body moves for the first time, and thinks about it. In theory, a blowjob would be nice, but honestly, he kind of just wants to get off as fast as possible, and even if Tito’s great at sucking dick generally, he’s never sucked Mat’s dick before, and so there’s still something of a learning curve. 

“I’m gonna touch myself,” Mat says. “Wanna watch?” 

And, as it turns out, Tito very much does. 

……

_ (Tito) _

Tito doesn’t like to be an unhappy person. 

It’s just—it’s not who he is. He’s the guy who keeps things light in the locker room, and draws smiley faces on his stick tape, and generally doesn’t hold grudges or feel bitter towards his teammates or friends. 

But he’s also human, so he can’t be happy about everything. 

And it’s not even like he has any right to be pissed off at Mat. Mat doesn’t know that Tito couldn’t be less interested in hearing about how badly Mat wants to bone Jordan Eberle, and he certainly doesn’t know that it’s lately been making Tito want to punch something every time it comes up, and he definitely doesn’t know that Tito’s feeling all sorts of anger and jealousy every time he so much as looks at Mat looking at Ebs. 

It’s made being on their line slightly less fun, but Tito’s game isn’t hurting for it, so he figures it could be worse. 

Plus, he’s, like, 80% sure he’d fucked out some of his feelings last night. So that’s progress, and even if it’s not actually, it had still been, like, really good. 

Like, good enough that Mat winces every time he sits down, which pleases Tito immensely. 

“For the record, Ebs and I switched rooms after we finished up,” Dylan says without preamble as he takes the aisle seat next to Tito, which blocks Tito’s view of a very squirmy Mat, and also, is just generally rude. “You two were still going pretty hard, though.” 

“What happens in our hotel room is none of your business,” Tito says. 

“I actually think it is,” Dylan says. “You guys were really fucking loud.” 

“And you weren’t?” 

“I’m not the one trying to keep secrets,” Dylan says easily. “Since when are you two hooking up, anyway?” 

Dylan Strome, Tito decides, is the kind of person who always has metaphorical gum on him, which is really nice if you want a stick of metaphorical gum, except the reason he has it is because he’s always chewing it, and, like, blowing bubbles and playing with it and generally being gross and making everyone aware that he’s chewing gum, metaphorically. 

“Why do you care?” 

Dylan fixes him with a look. “It’s new information about my teammates, who are also, like, my friends. I’m interested in that.”

“So you’re a gossip,” Tito says. 

“Yeah, I’m a gossip,” Dylan says. “So, hit me. What’s the deal?” 

“There’s nothing to say about it,” Tito says. 

“That wasn’t the case last night.” 

“Well, it is this morning,” Tito says. “We hooked up last night, that’s really all there is to it.”

“So that was the first time?” Dylan says. 

“Yeah,” Tito says. 

“Well,” Dylan prompts, “how did it happen?” 

“Okay, those are details I’m definitely not telling you.” 

“I don’t mean, like, who did what,” Dylan says. “But—why?” 

“Why does anyone do anyone?” Tito says. 

“For a variety of reasons,” Dylan says. “It’s not just about getting off.” 

“Sometimes it is,” Tito says. 

“Bullshit, you don’t just fuck your best friend because you happen to be horny,” Dylan says. 

“You fuck your best friends all the time,” Tito says. “It’s, like, your thing.” 

“Okay, but it’s never  _ just  _ because I feel like it,” Dylan says. “It’s like, a thing we talk about, and there’s some build-up—” 

“I think that’s called foreplay,” Tito deadpans.

“I’m talking about emotional build-up, dude,” Dylan says. “Like, you’ve known Barzy for 7 years, and you just decided, ‘oh, we’re gonna fuck now’?” 

“Can you keep your voice down?” Tito says, before he remembers that no, Dylan can’t, which is the reason this whole thing started in the first place, but he’s not gonna tell Dylan that.

“Fine,” Dylan says. “I’m just saying, there’s gotta be something there.” 

“Well, we’re not, like, secretly in love, so get that out of your head,” Tito says.

“Oh,” Dylan says, nodding slowly. “Okay, I see what’s happening here now.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“You’re into him,” Dylan says, probably in the softest voice he’s used this whole conversation, but it still hits Tito like a punch, anyway. 

“I—” Tito starts, but then he freezes, because there’s no use denying it. 

But, like, if there’s anyone who’s gonna be sympathetic about this kind of thing, it’s Dylan Strome. 

“It’s not that big of a thing,” he finally manages, after a second. “Don’t tell anyone. 

“Of course,” Dylan says, casual as anything. “For what it’s worth, I think it could work out.” 

Tito rolls his eyes. “You’re weirdly romantic for someone who has casual sex with literally all of his friends.” 

“Oh, I’ve got a whole philosophy on love,” Dylan says. “Davo thinks I should write a book.” 

“Your ex thinks you should write a book on relationships?” Tito says. 

“Yeah,” Dylan says. “And he’s not just my ex, he’s my friend.” 

“Still, how can he think you’re good enough at relationships to write a book if you broke up?”

“Well, you’ll have to read the book to find out,” Dylan says. 

…… 

_ (Mat)  _

So, like, Mat’s pretty sure he’s exceeded the normal reflective period that comes after hooking up with a friend. 

Like, it’s the kind of thing you should think about for maybe a day, or, like, a day and a half, if the sex is particularly good, but it’s been almost a week, and Mat’s got no visible marks anywhere on him, and he still can’t stop thinking about Tito. 

And it’s, like—it’s not just sex stuff.

It’s mostly sex stuff. Like, 95% sex stuff, at least, but there’s also, like— 

Like. When they’d finished. And they’d both showered, and they were planning on turning in for the night, there was a moment where Mat thought,  _ what if we shared a bed? _

And they didn’t, but, like. Mat thought about it, is the point, and he’s still thinking about it a week later, what it would have been like, how it would have felt, what the next morning would have been like, what it would have meant if Tito said yes, or if he said no— 

It’s. Becoming a problem. 

“Yo,” Ebs says, interrupting Mat’s train of thought.

“Yeah?” Mat says. 

Ebs rolls his eyes. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for, like, five minutes.” 

“Sorry,” Mat says, blushing slightly.

“No worries,” Ebs says. “Are you okay, though? You’ve been weird all week.” 

“I’ve just got a lot on my mind,” Mat says. 

“Okay,” Ebs says. “Do you wanna, like, talk about it?” 

Mat bites his lip. “It’s just—I don’t know. I don’t think it’s anything.” 

“You sure about that?” 

“Well, obviously not,” Mat says. “I don’t know. Like, I’m pretty sure—just.” He sighs. “I don’t know.” 

“Sounds like there’s a lot you don’t know,” Ebs says, and Mat elbows him. 

“Don’t be a dick,” Mat says. “I just—when you hook up with someone, how long do you usually spend thinking about it afterwards?”  

“Uh, it varies,” Ebs says. “Like, a lot.”

“On average,” Mat says. 

Ebs considers it. “I dunno, like—do I know the person I slept with?”

“Let’s say yes,” Mat says. 

“I mean, how often do I see them?”

“Okay, uh, how about—if you hook up with someone, and you’re still thinking about it a week later—what does that mean?”

“It could mean a lot of things,” Ebs says. “But probably that you want to hook up with them again.”

And Mat does—badly—but it’s also, like, not that simple, somehow. “Alright,” he says. “Thanks, I guess.” 

“Is this about Beau?” Ebs asks. 

Right. Ebs knows about that. 

God, Ebs  _ heard  _ that, what the fuck. 

“Maybe,” Mat admits. “It’s just—it was—he—” 

“I get the picture,” Ebs says.

“It’s not just that it was good,” Mat says. “He’s also—important to me? I guess?” 

“Hmm,” Ebs says, nodding, but he looks like he’s about to laugh. 

“What?” Mat says. 

“I mean, I just—I’m pretty sure I know what’s going on,” Ebs says. 

“You do?” Mat says. “What is it?” 

“Well, you hooked up with your friend, and you can’t stop thinking about it?” Ebs says. 

“Yeah,” Mat says. 

“And you’re having a hard time figuring out—y’know, what might be going on there,” 

“That’s true,” Mat says. 

“So,” Ebs says, giving Mat an expectant look. 

Mat shrugs. “Dude, you didn’t tell me anything.”  

“I’m trying to do that thing, where I guide you to the answer on your own,” Ebs says. 

“I don’t want to be guided,” Mat says, half-whining. “Can you just tell me what I’m feeling?” 

“Feelings,” Ebs says quickly. “Let’s start there.”

“What—” 

“Like, what  _ feelings _ do you think you have for Beau?” 

And that— 

Oh. 

Oh,  _ no _ .

“Oh god,” Mat says. 

“There it is,” Ebs says.

“I—” Mat says. “What? Do I?”

“You tell me,” Ebs says. 

And Mat… doesn’t. 

Tell him, that is. 

But the other thing, the feelings, he— 

Like. 

Fuck.

……  

_ Fuck _ .

…… 

_ (Dylan)  _

He can see it in Mat’s eyes, and hear it in Tito’s voice, and he really wants to do something, but Davo doesn’t think it’s a great idea. 

“That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” Connor says firmly. “Don’t do it.” 

Which is an exaggeration, obviously, because Dylan knows for a fact that he’s had ideas way worse than this one. “It’s not that bad.” 

“Yes, it is,” Connor says. “This is Barz we’re talking about, he’s way too stubborn to believe you if you tell him Tito’s into him.” 

“We’re friends, he’ll believe me,” Dylan says. 

“He hates you.”

“As a friend!” 

“Still,” Connor says. “If you tell him, how do you think he’s gonna react?” 

Dylan considers that. “Well, he reacts to most things I say by calling me an idiot.” 

“Exactly,” Connor says. 

“But he takes them to heart,” Dylan says. “I just—I really feel like I could make a difference here.” 

“No, Stromer.” 

“Please?” 

“No.” 

Dylan pouts, but he trusts Davo’s input on this, so he doesn’t say anything. 

…… 

Until he’s with the both of them, and, like. 

“Hey, Barzy, you haven’t whined about Ebs and Stromer in, like, twenty minutes,” Tito says, totally unprompted, which is the most transparent act of jealousy Dylan’s ever seen, and Dylan knows from jealous. Like, he’s friends with Mitch fucking Marner. He’s Dylan fucking Strome, for god’s sake. 

“What?” Mat says, blushing, looking something between offended and confused. Dylan kind of wants to punch them both in the face, and he means that in the nicest way possible.

“You haven’t mentioned wanting to get in Ebby’s pants in forever,” Tito says. 

“I mean,” Mat says, kind of sputtering. “Lost cause, I guess. Clearly his taste is questionable.” 

“Good chirp,” Dylan says brightly. “Real clever stuff, Barzy.” 

“Aw, hey, I think Stromer’s plenty cute,” Tito says, and then he nudges Dylan with his shoulder, which—

Okay, again, Dylan is friends with Mitch Marner, so he’s very familiar with the habits of generally happy people carrying a lot of pent-up anger. Tito’s trying to flirt, because he wants to make Mat jealous, which is unnecessary, and will probably not end well. 

“Yeah, I’m out,” Dylan says, standing up. “I’m not getting involved in this.” 

“What?” Tito says, batting his eyelashes, because he’s, like, really not subtle. 

“ _ The Price Is Right _ is on, I’m gonna go watch,” Dylan says. “Later, boys.” 

He doesn’t turn around to see if they go back to talking as he leaves, but he does think about them, because clearly, the situation is worse than he thought. 

……

_ (Tito)  _

“Hey,” Mat says. “I, uh, wanted to talk to you about something.” 

Tito looks up from his phone to see Mat looking… fidgety, and kind of nervous, which is, if Tito’s being honest, pretty fucking strange. 

“Yeah, sure,” Tito says.

“So, remember two weeks ago, when we—uh,” Mat says, and then he does a hand gesture. “Y’know.” 

Tito blinks. “Like, when we hooked up?” 

“Yeah,” Mat says. “So I’ve been thinking about it, and like—why hasn’t that happened again, y’know?” 

“Did you… want it to?” Tito says, because if he does, that’s news to him. Mat hasn’t done anything in the past few weeks that indicated that he wanted another go, and not that Tito’s not down, but he doesn’t know why it would take Mat this long to bring it up. 

“Well, yeah,” Mat says. “I thought you knew that.” 

“Wasn’t the whole point of last time that you should ask for the things you want?” Tito says, and he hates the words as they come out of his mouth, because it’s not like he’s been any better about it. 

“That’s what I’m doing now,” Mat says. 

Tito nods. “Okay then,” he says, ignoring the butterflies in his stomach, because last time had been just sex, and this time isn’t gonna be any different. “Ask.” 

He could probably drown in the way Mat’s eyes go wide at the simple command. It’s, like, too easy, honestly. 

…… 

_ (Mat)  _

Mat is… continuing to fuck this up, so. That’s good. 

Like, okay, the first time, he hadn’t realized the whole feelings business, but last night he’d really intended to address that, and like, maybe ask Tito if they could cuddle for a little, except Tito had already been asleep by the time Mat was done in the shower, and Mat had been too chicken to crawl into bed with him. 

Then, they’d had another plane ride, and now they’re back in New York, and Mat’s sitting in Dennis’ basement, trying to figure out what he could have done and what he can do in the future and just, like, what is going on. 

He’s on the verge of spiraling when his phone buzzes, and when he looks down, he sees,  _ hey wanna play fortnite?  _

It’s from Dylan, which is weird, because he and Dylan don’t really hang out that much, and he’s pretty sure neither of them actually plays Fortnite, but Mat could really use a distraction right now, so he sends back,  _ sure.  _

_ sweet,  _ Dylan says.  _ i’ll pick u up? _

_ i can drive,  _ Mat says.

_ nah, im in the area,  _ Dylan says. 

_ k,  _ Mat says. 

A few minutes later, he hears Dylan honking outside—which, okay, the Seidenbergs have neighbors—and he’s only been buckled in for a few seconds when Dylan says, “You don’t have to talk about your feelings.” 

Mat snorts. “Wasn’t planning on it,” he says. In hindsight, he should’ve guessed that this wasn’t gonna be about Fortnite; he’s, like, 80% sure there’s no reason they’d need to be in the same place to play it.

“I mean, I’ll talk about your feelings for you, but you don’t have to do anything but listen,” Dylan says. 

“What feelings?” 

“Your Beau feelings,” Dylan says, and Mat makes a surprised, sputtering noise that effectively kills any chance he had at playing it cool. 

“What the fuck,” Mat says. “What do you—did Jordan tell you? Is that how you know?” 

Dylan frowns. “Uh, no? I just figured it out myself.” 

“I don’t believe that,” Mat says. Like, sure, he’s obvious, but clearly not obvious enough that Tito had noticed, so. “Is that what your pillow talk is about? Is that why you wanted to get with him in the first place?” 

Dylan snorts at that. “Yes, I seduced Jordan Eberle so I could get that sweet, sweet rookie gossip out of him, how did you guess.” 

“What? That’s something I could see you doing,” Mat says. 

“Not really,” Dylan says, shrugging. “I like to keep my social life and my sex life separate.” 

“What  _ are  _ you,” Mat says, disbelieving. 

“That’s for me to know, and you to find out,” Dylan says, and honestly, Mat kind of respects that answer, albeit begrudgingly. “Anyway, your feelings for Beau.” 

“This is kidnapping,” Mat says. “I could call the authorities.” 

“You can get out of the car any time,” Dylan says. 

And Mat’s not gonna do that, because he’s not gonna admit to Dylan Strome that he’s scared to talk about his feelings, or be talked at about his feelings, so. “Fine, you can talk, but only for the length of this car ride. And no driving me around in circles.” 

“Fine,” Dylan says. “Just point A to point B. I’ll talk fast.” 

“Deal,” Mat says, and then he sits back, letting his head thump against the headrest. “Alright, hit me.” 

“So, you’re clearly into Beau, and you’ve hit that twice, and clearly there’s some stuff you’ve gotta talk about, because, between you and me, I think you’ll both be better off if you turn this into a conversation, but I might be too close to the situation.” 

“Too close to the—” Mat shakes his head. “Wait, how did you know about the second time?” 

“I have my sources,” Dylan says. 

“That hotel was pretty soundproof, so I’m pretty sure you’ve only got two possible sources, and I’m one of them,” Mat says. 

“I’m not gonna snitch,” Dylan says. “Anyway, I think it’ll be good if you two decide to talk this out.” 

“Aren’t you past sticking your nose in other people’s business?” Mat says. 

“Clearly not,” Dylan says. “I’m trying to cut back, but that’s not something you quit cold turkey.” 

Mat’s gonna respond to that, except he’s interrupted by Dylan’s driving, and specifically, Dylan making a turn that is definitively not in the direction of his place. 

“I thought you weren’t gonna drive me around in circles,” Mat says. 

“I’m not,” Dylan says. 

“This isn’t how we get to your place.” 

“I said we were going from point A to point B, I never said where point B was,” Dylan says. 

“This is totally kidnapping,” Mat says. “Where are you taking me?” 

“Where do you think?” Dylan says. 

“Please tell me you’re gonna murder me in an empty warehouse,” Mat says. 

“Nope.” 

“Please—” 

“Listen, you can do what you want when you get there, but I’m ringing the doorbell and you’re gonna say hi,” Dylan says. “He knows I think you two should talk about boning.” 

“Why were you guys even talking about it, anyway?” Mat says. 

“I’m a little offended that you’re asking,” Dylan says, as they pull up in front of Tito’s condo. “It’s like you don’t know me at all.” 

Dylan puts the car in park, and then turns to Mat, who sits in the passenger seat with his arms crossed. 

“I’m not getting out,” Mat says. 

“Then I’m texting him to come out here.” 

“Why?” Mat says. “Why are you even—” 

“Do you think I do this shit just to mess with you?” Dylan says. “If you really, really,  _ really  _ didn’t want to talk about this, you wouldn’t be here.” 

“You tricked me.” 

“We both know you’re too smart to be tricked,” Dylan says. “Listen, I know we’re not, like, super close, but you’re my friend, and he’s my friend, and I’ve seen this shit go south before, and, like—I’m not gonna let that happen to you, okay?” 

Mat’s quiet for a second, and then, “Is this because you feel bad about sleeping with Ebs?” 

“No,” Dylan says. “I mean, maybe, but—it’s mostly because I know how easy it is to be dumb when it comes to having feelings for a friend.” 

“You and Ebs are friends, but you’re keeping it casual.” 

“This is different,” Dylan says. “And we did talk about it, so.” 

The thing is—and Dylan probably figured this out—Mat really hadn’t been super interested in Ebs. Like, a crush is a crush, sure, but as cool as it’s been getting to be friends with his childhood hero, there’s still a little spark of awe there. Mat’s maybe an adult and an NHL superstar in his own right, but he kinda wants to hold on to some of the magic of that, and sleeping with Ebs would take that away. 

Mat doesn’t want something as easy as just asking someone for sex, and having them say yes. He wants a little more challenge, a little more work, and, like—as much as he fucking hates butterflies, he also kind of loves them, because he’s a romantic at heart. 

He’s a little bit of a storyteller, maybe. Dylan’s always seen it in him, and he’s always seen it in Dylan, and maybe that’s why Mat hasn’t been able to shake him, because they have too much in common. 

Something occurs to Mat. “Do you… have feelings for someone?” 

Dylan smiles, a little sad. “Yeah,” he says, like an admission.

“Not him,” Mat says. “It’s someone—” 

“Back in Arizona,” Dylan says. “It was—I mean, like, it was gonna be a nice thing, but—” he shrugs. “I got traded, and it was… complicated, before that.” 

“Why?” 

“It wasn’t the way I usually fall for people,” Dylan says. “I can usually catch it, but it just—happened, I guess.” 

“Oh,” Mat says, because this is starting to sound very familiar to him, all of a sudden. 

“Ebs has his bullshit, I have mine, and we kind of—get each other, so. It’s a nice distraction.” Dylan chews his lip. “I mean, I’m not giving up on it—the Arizona guy, I mean—but I just—I have all this courage built up.” 

“And you’re, what, giving it to me?” 

“If you want it,” Dylan says. “I mean, you know your odds with Beau are pretty good.” 

“I—” Mat sighs. “I don’t know.” 

“Yeah,” Dylan says. 

They sit in silence for a few minutes, and Mat doesn’t even know if he’s stewing or not. He doesn’t think he’s thinking about it, but he’s also not really sure what he’s even feeling, besides this weird, calm kind of terror. 

“I guess I should go in,” Mat says. 

“Good luck,” Dylan says. “Let me know if you need a ride, I guess.” 

“I can Uber,” Mat says, and then he takes a deep breath and opens the car door. 

…… 

_ (Tito) _

Mat Barzal is maybe the last person Tito is expecting to see on his porch when he gets home, and he’s so surprised that it takes him a few minutes to convince himself that he’s not literally hallucinating. It’s pretty dark out, so it really could be anyone, but the silhouette certainly looks like Mat, and enough of the face is illuminated by the light from his phone that if the person sitting there is actually real, it’s almost definitely Mat.  

“Barz?” he calls, approaching the edge of his front lawn. “Is that you?” 

“Yeah,” says a voice that is unmistakably Mat’s. 

And there are a lot of questions Tito could ask—how long has he been waiting, how did he get here, why is he here in the first place—but instead of getting any answers to those, Tito leads with the truth. “I’ve been looking for you all afternoon.” 

“I’ve been here,” Mat says, and Tito’s close enough that they can speak in normal voices, now. 

“I didn’t know,” Tito says. “Why didn’t you text me, or something?” 

“Why didn’t you?” Mat says. 

Tito pauses for a fraction of second before answering, but he’s feeling brave, for some reason. Maybe it’s because he’s just spent four hours driving around Garden City looking for him, or maybe it’s because it’s dark out and a weirdly warm night, or maybe it’s because Mat’s inexplicably sitting on his front porch—either way, the words fall out easier than they should. 

“I figured it would be more romantic if I didn’t.” 

There’s a terrifying beat where Mat just blinks at him, and Tito feels the air leave the room—which doesn’t even make sense, because they’re outside—but then, slowly, he starts to smile, this calm, bright thing that is, somehow, both way too good to be true, and way too good to be anything but. 

“Same here,” he says. 

The smile grows on Tito’s face without his permission, but he doesn’t really mind. “Oh.” 

“Yeah,” Mat says, smiling wider. “Oh.” 

“We should go inside,” Tito says. “And, uh, talk.” 

“We should,” Mat agrees, standing up. “It’s a pretty nice night, though.” 

“It really is.” 

“I kind of want to kiss you now,” Mat says.

“Well, that’s good, because I kind of want to kiss you now, too,” Tito says. 

And as he steps closer to Mat, and Mat cups his cheek in his hand, and they both start to lean in, Tito thinks it’s almost too calm, but then again, there’s no reason it shouldn’t be. They’re two people who want the same thing, and Tito was finally brave enough to ask for it, so really, the hard part is over, and the world can fall into place around them. 

It’s a gentle kind of kiss, soft and lingering and over fast, which is actually kind of nice, because Tito gets to see the way Mat’s eyes are shining down at him while their faces are still close enough that he can feel Mat’s breath. 

It’s been sunny for days, but it somehow smells like it just rained, and Tito can’t really get enough of it. 

“It’s such a nice night,” Tito says. “Maybe we can talk out here, for a little bit.” 

“You missed the sunset earlier, it was pretty dope,” Mat says, sitting down on the porch. 

Tito sits on the step below him, next to his feet. “Did you take pictures?” 

“Yeah, but none of them were good.” 

“That’s a shame,” Tito says. “It would’ve been nice to have a sunset for this.” 

“The sky is still kinda beautiful,” Mat says.

“It is,” Tito agrees, and then he puts his hands on his knees and stares at them intently as he says, “Also, just to be clear—I, like, probably love you, so.” 

There’s a pause, and then Mat says, “Oh.” 

Tito’s heart sinks a little, but he reminds himself that Mat was still openly thirsting over Ebs a few weeks ago, so. “Yeah, I don’t expect you to—” 

“No, I mean, I do,” Mat says quickly. 

“What?” 

“Sorry, I just needed some time to process, but—probably, like, same.” 

“You mean, you probably—” 

“Love you, yeah,” Mat says. “It’s not too soon if there’s a ‘probably’ there, right?” 

“That’s what I thought,” Tito says. 

“Okay, yeah,” Mat says. “Okay, I—uh. So. I’ve been here for a few hours.” 

“Alright,” Tito says. 

“And at some point my phone died—which, uh, by the way, one of your neighbors leant me a charger, super nice guy, has this really small dog—” 

“Betty?” 

“Bill.” 

“Yeah, Bill’s the owner, Betty’s the dog,” Tito says. 

“Right, well, that’s—like, so not the point,” Mat says. “Just—my phone died, so I just had to sit here, and, like, think.” 

“It’s a good thing you ran into Betty and Bill, then,” Tito says. 

“Yeah, it—or, no,” Mat says. “I mean, eventually, yeah, but it was a good thing that I had to think, because I was thinking about—like, you.” 

“Oh,” Tito says, blushing, even though he has no real reason to be surprised by that.   

“I’m not used to having to think about things a lot? When it comes to feelings, and, like, people?” Mat says. “Like, I always know what’s going on, but there was, like, this huge thing with us that I totally missed, and I have no idea how.” 

“It happens,” Tito says. “This stuff is… tricky.” 

“For sure,” Mat says. “But I think—when we were talking, about, like, asking for what I want—I do that. A lot. And so it was like, as soon as I acknowledged that I wanted—well, uh. You. I would have to do something about that.” 

“So, what are you trying to say?” Tito asks. 

“Just that—I’ve never really fallen this hard before? So it feels like a lot, but, I dunno. Maybe it’s normal.” 

“I’m sure it is,” Tito says, and then he turns to Mat and gives him a grin. “I’m not, like, that special.” 

“That’s a fucking lie, and I will fight you over it,” Mat says, very serious. 

“You’re cute,” Tito says, and then he faces forward again, leaning his head on Mat’s knee. “I just knew I was into you, but was too scared to say anything.” 

“For how long?” 

“A while,” Tito admits. “It sort of got worse as time went on.” 

“What finally pushed you over the edge?” Mat asks. 

“Honestly?” Tito says. “Stromer called me out.” 

“On what, pining?” 

“No,” Tito says. “On letting it get to me.” 

“Well, I guess I’m glad he did,” Mat says. 

“I really never thought I’d live to see the day where you appreciated Stromer butting in,” Tito says. 

“Yeah, neither did I,” Mat says. “He kind of called me out too, though.” 

“If the hockey thing doesn’t work out, he has great potential as a matchmaker,” Tito says, and he can feel Mat laugh before standing up. 

“Okay,” Mat says. “Let’s actually go inside, now.” 

Going inside sounds… weirdly scary, if Tito’s being honest. 

It’s light inside, and very real, and this whole night feels romantic, ethereal, a little bit magic. Going inside means pausing the conversation to untie his shoes, and having to remember to lock the front door, and wondering whether or not he should offer Mat water before they settle in to figure out what to do. 

At the same time, though, Mat probably loves him, and if Mat still probably loves him when the romance wears away, they’re in a place to turn this into something really good, and honestly, it’s not like they haven’t made it through weird, awkward patches before. They can handle going inside.

“Yeah,” Tito says, standing up to join him, and as he digs his keys out of his pocket, he says, “How’d you get here, anyway? I don’t see your car anywhere.” 

“It’s a long story,” Mat says. “I’ll tell you after.” 

…… 

_ Epilogue _

_ (Jordan)  _

Dylan, as per usual, reaches for his phone as soon as Jordan’s out of him, and he’s texting before Jordan’s even done rolling the condom off his dick. 

“Jesus, you make me feel old,” Jordan says. 

“You are old,” Dylan says, not missing a beat, and not looking away from the screen in his hand. 

“You make me feel even older,” Jordan says. “I want to complain about how technology is ruining today’s youth.” 

“Oh shit, that’s, like, one step away from telling kids to get off your lawn,” Dylan says. 

“I know, I hate it,” Jordan says. 

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t think it’s today’s youth in general,” Dylan says. “I’m pretty sure it’s just me.” 

“What a relief,” Jordan deadpans. 

Dylan finally spares him a glance. “I can stop, if you want.” 

Jordan shrugs; in all honesty, he doesn’t actually care that much. This happens often enough that he can’t really be offended. “Nah, I’m not in a pillowtalk mood.” 

Dylan snorts, then turns back to his phone. “Are you ever?” 

“Not all of us are at our chattiest after sex,” Jordan says, which, to be fair, isn’t really true. Dylan’s at his chattiest most of the time. “Who’re you talking to, anyway?” 

“Just a couple of—” Dylan starts, but he’s interrupted by his phone buzzing, and Jordan gets to watch as his eyes go wide right before he drops his phone, right on his face. 

If Jordan was a much nicer person, he’d probably ask Dylan if he was okay, but as it stands, he just laughs. 

“Ow,” Dylan says, rubbing his nose. “Phones hurt.” 

“I’m having a hard time believing that’s the first time this has happened,” Jordan says. 

“Honestly, so am I,” Dylan says, but then he’s turning on his side, looking at the message that had apparently almost caused injury, and he’s not even typing anymore, just… staring.

There’s a look on his face, one that Jordan thinks he recognizes. 

“Everything okay?” Jordan asks. 

“Yeah,” Dylan says, and then he springs into action, grabbing his clothes and pulling them on as fast as possible. “Sorry, I actually—I need to… call someone?” 

“Alright,” Jordan says. The phone is open on the bed as Dylan hastily gets dressed, and Jordan’s slightly tempted to peek at the screen, but he decides against it quickly. “Do what you gotta.” 

“I’m so sorry—” Dylan says. 

“Dude,” Jordan says. “I seriously do not care.” 

“It’s still rude,” Dylan says, sitting on the bed to tie his shoes. 

“I’m not offended,” Jordan says. 

“Okay,” Dylan says. “Well, uh, sorry still, thanks for the sex, and uh—” he stands up, tucks his phone in his pocket, and does a quick scan of the room, like he ever stops by with anything extra. “Bye, I guess.” 

“So long,” Jordan says, but the door is already slamming shut before the words are out of his mouth.  

It’s maybe the quickest post-sex exit Jordan’s ever seen, which, he figures, is the benefit of sleeping with emotionally unavailable rookies. He’s not sure what Dylan’s dealing with right now, because he treats every emergency, big or small, with the same amount of urgency. 

It’s sweet, Jordan thinks. Barzy says it’s annoying, but Barzy’s been on the receiving end of it more often than Jordan has, so. In theory, it’s sweet, and Jordan’s never seen how it works out in practice. 

Because Jordan is a reasonable adult human being, he hasn’t checked his phone yet, but now that he’s alone, he doesn’t really have much better to do, so he grabs it off the nightstand and starts to scroll through his notifications. 

His eyes land on a trade announcement between Arizona and New Jersey. 

Which probably explains Dylan’s strange emergency phone call. 

There’s a chance Jordan’s wrong, but he kind of hopes he’s not. Like, sure, sleeping with Dylan is fun, but he probably deserves better than okay, no-strings-attached distractions from real, actual emotions. 

And, if Jordan’s being honest with himself—which he usually isn’t, but he is, right now—New Jersey isn’t too far away. Maybe they could make it work. 

It’s a big “maybe,” but—still. 

Maybe. 

**Author's Note:**

> (Prologue:  
> Mat: wait why are you fucking Dylan Strome  
> Ebs: I dunno, he's like. fun and drama free.  
> Mat: ... I'm sorry I just blacked out there for a second, what did you say?  
> Ebs: he's a lowkey guy.  
> Mat: what?  
> Ebs: y'know, simple stuff, no strings, just buddies—  
> Mat: you're talking about Dylan?  
> Ebs: yes?  
> Mat: like, Dylan Strome?  
> Ebs: yes???  
> Mat: he's. lowkey and drama-free. those are the words you're saying.  
> Ebs: yeah idk he's pretty chill.  
> Mat: ????????)


End file.
